All The Tea In China 全中国的茶
by imperialcentury
Summary: In the 21st century, the weight of history is heavier than Arthur assumes it to be. Flashback - Opium Wars fic. (M rating for later chapters)


'All The Tea In China'

全中国的茶

_an Axis Powers: Hetalia – England x China fan-fiction_

I

It was the twenty-second of September, the year twenty-twelve. On a cool autumn's morning, a light breeze blew gently through the woods surrounding the Camp David retreat. There was a fresh and moist scent in the air. All around the leaves had turned orange and brown, and often several would fall, floating down from trees till they reached the ground, which had already been piled up in layers, and each piece individually shaped. It was nine, and the sun was sufficiently risen. The glint of light tinted the auburn leaves, and the overall scene seemed to be a canvas of gold, silver and bronze under the eye of a watchful mother with outstretched arms. A distinct and well-maintained path ran through the woods. It was a largely straight path, with occasional winding regions. Glazed over by dew from the night before, it glittered under the sunlight, clear of leaves or decoration. A mile inwards stood the country retreat, which was a medium-sized bungalow with the feel of a Canadian log cabin.

There were a great many rooms in the house, including a shed, barracks and a stable. The President had offered his charge, Alfred F. Jones the residence to hold a meeting with seven other diplomatic emissaries. Today, they sat in the meeting room after breakfast. The atmosphere dipped from a hearty to one of silence and seriousness, as eight nations sat huddled over their papers, pens in hand as they scanned through documents, with only cups of tea or coffee to ease their solemn attitude. The clock struck nine-thirty, and after the Italian had finally sauntered in, after leisurely finishing his breakfast, the meeting commenced.

The topic of the morning was a relatively simple one. Environmental sustainability, it was thought, to be a boredom-inducing topic. Yet no one wished to agitate or divide anyone on the first day of the week-long retreat. No one wished to articulate anything at first, and it was finally decided that the two largest economies (and emitters of carbon dioxide) were to begin. In a group of eight, Alfred kept quiet, fidgeting under the table, but when him and Yao Wang were called up, Alfred instantly sprang to his feet, and assertively stated that he would start first.

"Over the past year, carbon dioxide emissions have risen … "

The seven men listened, some with electronic translators, some taking notes. It was a brilliant speech, but after half a century had passed since Alfred first took the lead, everyone was familiar with his style, which had hardly altered. The man, down to earth and yet always showcasing his best attempts to be altruistic had many brilliant ideas which were troublesome to implement. Of late, he had been blamed for many things instead.

Alfred F. Jones, the leader, finished his speech, and he sat down again. Next to take his speech was Yao Wang, and he stood up. Appearing to glance at the sheet of paper which he held low in his hand, he remained silent for a few moments, a natural expression gracing his features. When he finally spoke, he greeted the members briefly in Mandarin (to which the translators worked on in their boxes), and calmly began on his speech without looking at anyone in particular. He articulated his words at a calm pace, yet within each word was a firm conviction. Yao expressed the aura of being sure of himself, confident to express although his views were not conventional.

Everyone focused their attentions on Yao. There was a formidable charm about the man, his long ebony locks complemented by the svelte business suit of the same colour. This was the China of the 21st century. Sophisticated, intelligent and reserved, he captivated the Western-dominated environment with his collected stride and instilled a sense of reverence by the brevity of his speech. A large degree of complexity stirred underneath his exterior, and four thousand years of history ran through his veins. Yet, much unlike his Western counterparts, he was rarely agitated. Instead, every word that he uttered prompted a wave of questions about his identity and the secrets beneath his veil. Although little was understood about him, he was an enthralling figure to watch. His stately aura reverberated through the minds of everyone seated in the room.

Yao's behaviour was not surprising. This man had witnessed centuries of European nations fighting wars which he had fought within himself two millennia ago, until he had finally united himself under the auspices of his first emperor, Qin Shihuang. Throughout the European bickering, he kept largely quiet, assumed them as childish, and minded his own business. Ironically, for someone who possessed some of the finest architectures, little of greed can be said about him. Never once did he attempt to colonise the land of others, and while he was ambitious he never once sought to interfere in the spoils of others. Unfortunately, this took a toll on him for some time, for the greed of his Western counterparts would have overtaken him and bended him to their will.

But on this day, this was China. This was the rising dragon who was rich enough to depose Alfred, and although still lacking in strength, the complexity about him was one which many were unable to behold, and would keep their eyes fixed on him, for a very long time.

Seated on the opposite side of the table was Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, although he preferred to use the name 'Britain', or 'England' in informal circumstances. They were certainly not interchangeable, but when he held power over his brothers, any alternative term only served to augment his prestige. Or perhaps, prestige which he rode on and held once upon a time. This was Arthur, the former British Empire, under which he had controlled a quarter of the world's population and a fifth of its land. Even Ivan Braginsky, the Russian Federation had only held a sixth under his thumb at his height. Today, he remained silent, seemingly benevolent, maintaining a steady friendship with America which had often been deemed 'The Special Relationship.'

He was a proud shadow of his former self, although he had matured a great deal. Once upon a time he had been incredibly pompous, priding himself heavily on empire, and having claimed by others to commit many questionable deeds. His past remains a topic of interest for many nations, having been under his thumb, and few could correctly reconcile his gentlemanly qualities with his deeds as an imperial power. Perhaps he had a greater sense back then, but to this man who was sitting calmly in the meeting room, it appeared residual, while he largely maintained the civil character he once had. He was proud of his past. This was a part of him which he never did forget, which he felt lost without, and which he would safe keep. But today, he was calm, collected, and with a deep sense of history, he, like Yao, would sit silently, watch and contemplate. Except of course, without pain or pressure in himself.

Every one of the emissaries seated at the table was plagued with notions of change and continuity. Many of them had lived at least more than one millennium, and while there was a distinct continuity in some, like Ivan, it seemed nearly impossible to point out a sense of development for some, like Alfred and Arthur. Even more distinct yet were the relationships forged between people. Someone could have attempted to take the life of another once upon a time, and yet today, have made up with him or her. There was a certain silence about history which plagued the place, or a certain tolerance which permeated the outer layers of the nations' souls. Otherwise, there was love, ..or strong dislike.

Arthur watched the Chinese man with a gentle disposition, following his every move, as every action of his resonated within his own mind. There was something Arthur definitely knew about himself – He seemed far too practical at times, but with a strong sense of nostalgia. Perhaps this was what prompted him to look, to study the man who was in front of him.

Yao stated his proposition, and elaborated on it with ease, occasionally his accent would drop a word 'aru' at the end of his sentences, but otherwise he was fluent, those deep eyes focused on the paper, pointed slightly downwards to the audience. He finished his speech, and sat down with a soft gaze down at his chair.

Arthur studied him; was this the man who had grown so strong? There was no doubt about it, it was Yao, and it was the same Yao, just one which he felt a certain detachment to, and yet a cloud in his own nostalgia which made Arthur continue looking, even if behind the fog of his own reserved nature. He had a past which he thought fondly of. But more so, if this past was accurate, he had a future to seek out, a future of knowing this man – Yao, once more. There was no urgency about it, but it was in his calmly amicable intention complemented by the sunny day outside to seek him out, and to discuss the weather over a cup of tea. To spend a long day with him without really saying anything at all. That suited him well, he thought – Alfred was the contender, while he would just sit away, and pursue friendship. Just for this situation, politics with Yao, was for him less questionable than Yao's dealings with Alfred – there was less of the financial or military issues. It was purely cultural. There seemed to be no flaw in his intention.

But Yao, on the other hand, was conscious on his own. It was all calm on the surface, and he was keen to speak. This man, however, was living in the cusp of history. Unlike Arthur who had turned to other outlets, being freed from empire, Yao was in the midst of creating his own sphere of influence. His memories remained fresh in his mind, and the scars inflicted not too long ago still seemed to radiate a certain memory of pain when looked at, and more so when touched. These were the scars which made him, and till today still he stands in his enduring struggle for power, wealth and democracy. None of this affected his dealings in the meeting with Arthur – those were purely situational and attuned to the present. But in all 'speaking at length about nothing', Yao had to move back to work. To work by his own methods, while Western nations probed endlessly outside attempting to figure out the mechanics of his mind. Unless Arthur remained distant from his counterparts, interacting with Yao on a purely cultural basis, he was never to know him during this day. From this perspective, the situation changed. Now, this was not Arthur Kirkland. Arthur and Yao were similar in the sense that they were no 'pushovers', they both spoke eloquently, were brilliant orators, and especially witty and convincing. Underneath the reserved exterior, Arthur was a serious person with a sense of moral judgement. It was clear. If one day in the 21st century the calling arose for Arthur to understand Yao, he would have to study him from a deeper perspective. There was a cultural dimension of understanding, but there was also a political one.

Yao ended his speech, and following that, six other nations spoke, one by one. Everyone seemed to present their papers at a leisurely pace, the atmosphere seeming to have soothed them much. Even the German speech was amicably presented. The French and Italian delegates spoke little, seemingly more obsessed with the little trinkets present in the American presidential retreat. The meeting ended by eleven, with no voting or resolutions passed, but a friendly introductory session which was to helm the whole week's activities. When Alfred gave the dismissal, each nation folded their documents, and stood up one by one to leave. Some spoke heartily with other delegates, and others were more silent.

Arthur stood up with a modest disposition. He gathered his papers in a stately manner, and walked around a chair, until he was but two metres away from where Yao stood.

"Yao," Arthur said, after the meeting.

"Yes, Arthur?"

… came the reply, in the familiar but distant velvet tone.


End file.
